


Ardency & Adoration

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Series: Hockey RPF Tumblr Prompts [25]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5 Headcanons Prompt, Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, authorial self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: “My dear Mr. Crosby,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Sewickley Park is let at last?”amazingalaina asked:Courting au??





	Ardency & Adoration

1.“My dear Mr. Crosby,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Sewickley Park is let at last?”

Mr. Crosby replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Mackinnon has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Mr. Crosby made no answer.

“Do not you want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently.

“ _You_  want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Mackinnon says that Sewickley is taken by a young man of large fortune. He is of foreign extraction, and it is said a large party of his acquaintance will be traveling will him when he takes up his residence here. What a fine thing for our children!”  

Mr. Crosby privately thought that no man of fortune, foreign or no, would look kindly on a match with his children, not with how far the family’s circumstances had fallen, and how poor their connections were. Sidney and Taylor could bring little to a marriage besides their own good reputations and characters, and he feared that those would hardly be a lure for any gentleman of means and standing.

 

 

2\. Zhenya was of the good humored inclination to find everyone and everything agreeable, and so was not as nonplussed as others of their party at the provincial air of the country assembly they found themselves attending.

Not many understood Sasha’s purchase of, not an estate in his native Russia, nor a townhome in London, but a country house in —-shire. But Zhenya advised him that he should do as he liked. And so here they found themselves, being stared at rather blatantly by their new neighbors.

“How plain everyone dresses,” Sasha tells Zhenya, in Russian so as not to offend. Zhenya considers his own vibrantly brocaded waistcoat and shrugs. The English are rather quaint in their restrained dress. Like sparrows. It’s rather charming, in a way.

The music starts up, and Zhenya casts his eyes about for a partner. There are pretty lasses and handsome lads in abundance, and he lets himself enjoy the sight of them.

Then, over by the wall, almost tucked away in the shadows, he sees him. The most beautiful man Zhenya has ever seen. He clutches at Sasha’s coat sleeve.

“Sasha, who is that man? Do you know him?” Sasha gives him a look of exasperation but glances in direction Zhenya has indicated.

“Ah, him? The eldest Crosby son, I am told. Sidney, or something like that. Genteel family, but currently in greatly reduced circumstances. They live just down the lane from Sewickley.  Be careful Zhenya, the family will be on the prowl, looking to snatch an advantageous match.”

“Snatch away,” Zhenya breathes, taking in the breadth of Mr. Crosby’s shoulders and the voluptuous pout of his lips. Sasha rolls his eyes but waves him off to “make a damn fool of himself if he pleases.”

Zhenya should really wait and let a mutual acquaintance introduce him to Mr. Crosby, but he’s too afraid someone else will come and claim him for the dances, leaving Zhenya, he is certain, heartsick for the rest of the evening.

“Hello,” Zhenya says when he is standing in front of Mr. Crosby at last. Up close, he is able to see the piercing hazel of Mr. Crosby’s eyes and the inky curl of his hair. Zhenya is quite undone. “I am Evgeni Malkin and I hear we are to be neighbors. Are you engaged for the next dance?” As he speaks, in his mind he feverishly thanks the determination of his childhood tutors and his father’s insistence on a worldly gentleman’s education. Meeting Mr. Crosby’s gaze with his own is enough to make him forget all the languages he knows, were they not so thoroughly and laboriously drilled into him.

Mr. Crosby blinks long, pretty lashes and to Zhenya’s horror, creases his brows in a small, tight frown. “I do not intend to dance tonight,” he says stiffly, every line of his body and countenance spelling discomfort. “You must excuse me.” And before Zhenya can say another word, Mr. Crosby turns on his heel, and disappears into the crowd.

 

 

3\. Zhenya puts a rather embarrassing dent in Sasha’s fine Scots whiskey whilst mourning his dismissal by Mr. Crosby. Sasha finds endless amusement in his agony and practically throws him from the house in order to “stop lounging disconsolately on my furniture and get some fresh air.” Zhenya calls for Magnitka to be saddled, and hies himself down the lane. It is of no consequence whatsoever that he is riding past the Crosby house. None.

He does not expect to see anyone but to his astonishment, he encounters Mr. Crosby himself, walking along the verge with a young woman. As Zhenya draws closer, he can see that although her hair is as fair as Mr. Crosby’s is dark, that their faces are too alike to be anything but brother and sister.

He sees Mr. Crosby’s gaze flit over him, and snag on Magnitka. She is a beautiful Cossack-bred Don, flame red and proud-necked. Zhenya wouldn’t hear of leaving her behind in Russia, and had spared no expense in bringing her to England. He is pleased that Mr. Crosby appears to have a good eye for horses.

“Mr. Crosby, we meet again,” Zhenya says, and is disheartened by the fact that Mr. Crosby does not look up at him, or speak. Zhenya smiles and nods at the sister, before deciding he needs to try and undo whatever damage occured last night. “I must beg your forgiveness, I was too forward last night. I should have let others introduce us, but I have few acquaintances here and did not want to miss my chance.” Mr. Crosby has ducked his head and Zhenya can see a blush begin to stain his cheeks.

The younger Miss Crosby laughs, and smiles up at Zhenya. “You must forgive my brother,” she says merrily. “My brother is not used to much society, as is made clear by the fact he has not yet introduced me to his new friend?”

Mr. Crosby, manages to blush even more crimson than before. “Taylor,” he admonishes quietly, before sighing, and looking up. “My sister, Miss Taylor Crosby. Taylor, this is Evgeni Malkin.” “You remember my name,” Zhenya says, the words falling from his lips before he is able to stop himself. Taylor looks delighted, and beams at him when he dismounts Magnitka to take and politely kiss her gloved hand.

“Will you walk with us, Mr. Malkin?” she asks, and while Zhenya would love nothing in the world so much as this, he looks to Mr. Crosby for approval.

“If Mr. Crosby does not object,” he says, and Mr. Crosby shakes his head.

“I do not,” he says quietly, and  Zhenya rejoices in the opportunity to perhaps improve Mr. Crosby’s opinion of him. He leads Magnitka and walks alongside them, answering Miss Crosby’s questions about the Continent, and stealing glances at her brother.

At one point they pause by a pleasant beck to allow Magnitka to drink. Zhenya strokes her mane and murmurs to her in his native tongue.

“Nothing to be done, my pretty one, he does not like me much and I am not sure I can win his good favor. What do you think, eh?” She snorts, and butts her dripping muzzle into his previously spotless coat. “Thank you for that,” he admonishes her, but scratches her under the throatlatch anyway. She lays her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes in enjoyment, as she is wont to do. Zhenya laughs at her, but stills when he sees that while Miss Crosby is some distance away gathering wildflowers, her brother is close by, watching Zhenya with his inscrutable hazel eyes.

“She is a spoiled creature,” Zhenya says sheepishly.

“She is loved,” Mr. Crosby says quietly, and it takes Zhenya’s breath away to hear the word on his lips.

“I brought her all the way from Russia,” Zhenya admits. “I could not be without her. I’ve had her since she was a yearling and I am a sentimental man.”

Mr. Crosby looks intrigued. He steps closer to stroke Magnitka’s withers. “What is her lineage?” he asks, and Zhenya brightens. Perhaps they will find common ground after all.

 

 

4\. Zhenya’s afternoon walk with the Crosbys ends after they have had a long and intricate enough conversation about fine horses that Miss. Crosby proclaims them “ever so dull, and perfectly suited to each other,” which thrills Zhenya deeply and makes Mr. Crosby, yet again, turn pink.

“Sid loves riding so,” his sisters tells Zhenya. “He was considered one of the finest horsemen in the county. That is, until we were forced to sell—”

“Taylor,” her brother interjects sharply. “It is not seemly to discuss such things.” Miss Crosby looks abashed, and Zhenya is quick to reassure.

“Please, do not be discomfited. It is hard, to lose a beloved animal. Tell me of him?”

“His name was Cole,” Sidney says, and although his voice is low and his tone still embarrassed, Zhenya can hear the sadness there. “Mostly Irish hunter, with some Arab blood. Black, with a white star.” Zhenya murmurs something sympathetic, but his mind has already latched onto the vaguest wisp of an idea.

At the front gate of their home, Zhenya takes his leave of the Crosbys, but not before quietly asking Mr. Crosby if he has his leave to call again sometime. Mr. Crosby gives it, and Zhenya rides Magnitka home in a daze of happiness.

 

 

5\. After that, Zhenya tries his best not to behave in an unseemly or undesired manner. But Mr. Crosby, aside from his beauty, is kind, interesting, intelligent, and devoted to his family. Every brief conversation when they meet while out walking or in the town shops serves to strengthen Zhenya’s growing attachment. And his greatest hope, that Mr. Crosby will at least come to see him as a friend, seems to be on its way to being realized. Just last week, he was able to make Mr. Crosby laugh not once, but twice during another walk with himself and Miss Crosby. And, he and Mr. Crosby formed a viciously competitive alliance during a game of whist at Sasha’s latest card party.

Zhenya pesters Sasha into holding a hunt, with the perhaps impure motive of pleasing Mr. Crosby, and he pesters Mr. Crosby into accepting the loan of one of Sasha’s hunters and attending. The day is a perfect one, although Zhenya had not been prepared for the sight of Mr.Crosby’s…..glorious physique…in his close-fitting riding trousers. Or the consummate skill and beauty of his horsemanship. During the hunt the party is presented with a particularly difficult jump, over a ditch with a fence beyond it, but Mr. Crosby simply eyes it carefully, and sends his mount over with effortless grace and precision. He’s perhaps the best horseman Zhenya has ever seen and he cannot contain a whoop of excitement over the display of skill. Mr. Crosby looks back, and  _grins_ , flushed with excitement and the cool bite of the morning air.

When the fox is at last cornered, and Zhenya manages to convince Sasha to call the dogs off and let it go, Mr. Crosby smiles at him. “Soft hearted,” he tells Zhenya, but his tone is kind, and not scornful in the slightest.

There is another assembly held, and this time Mr. Crosby dances with Zhenya. Every brush of their hands seems to sear itself upon Zhenya like a brand. He yearns to be able to pull Mr. Crosby closer, tell him how much he has come to care for him, how much more he would care for him, if only Mr. Crosby would permit it. But Zhenya cannot make his attachment known, not yet. He must see proof of Mr. Crosby’s feelings; Zhenya will not burden him with Zhenya’s own otherwise.

After long weeks of inquiries, Zhenya at last manages to find out the whereabouts of Sid’s horse. It was no mean feat; the beast had been sold in the chaos of a horse fair at one of the county’s larger market towns, and the recordkeeping had been sparse indeed. Money greases all wheels, however, and that Zhenya has in abundance. Zhenya makes the trip to see about buying him back himself.

“What are you doing, my friend?” Sasha asks, shaking his head, as Zhenya prepares to leave.

“What I must,” Zhenya relies.

Cole is a beautiful animal, but his new owners, a livery stable, have no special regard for their horseflesh besides the profit it can make them, and Zhenya is appalled at the state of Mr. Crosby’s beloved horse. Zhenya pays an absurd amount for him, and brings him immediately to the inn he’s residing at, with stern directions to the ostlers there to treat him as if he were the mount of the Prince Regent himself.

On his journey back home, he ponders how best to go about this gift. The Crosbys cannot keep him, so he plans to stable the horse at Sewickley Place. Sasha’s stables are both fine and finely kept, and then Mr. Crosby can come and see to Cole whenever he likes.

Sasha’s grooms polish Cole’s coat to a high sheen, and Zhenya himself helps untangle the mess of his mane and tail. Finally, Zhenya saddles Magnitka and readies himself to visit the Crosbys, heart in his throat and Cole in hand.

Miss Crosby is the one to answer the door, and she is, as ever, happy to see him. “Mr. Malkin! How wonderful to see you, what brings—” her words die on her lips as she notices the second horse Zhenya is holding by the reins. “Is that…” she asks, and Zhenya nods.

“Please,” he asks her. “Can you ask your brother if he will speak to me?” She nods, eyes wide, and runs back into the house, calling “Sid! Sid come quickly!” as she goes. Zhenya waits, feeling as if all his life were leading up to this very moment.

“Taylor what—” Mr. Crosby is protesting when he is pushed into view by an eager Miss Crosby. He is bareheaded and without a coat, and Zhenya’s heart leaps in his chest at the dear sight of him.

“Oh, Mr. Malkin, I—”Mr. Crosby says, and goes very, very still. Zhenya stretches out the hand holding Cole’s reins. Cole whickers eagerly and tugs, happy at the sight of his master. Mr. Crosby takes hold of him as someone in a dream, as he strokes the white star on the horse’s forehead and straightens his headstall with trembling hands. “What…” he breathes, and Zhenya knows he must now explain himself.

“Sidney,” he says, and Mr. Crosby turns shocked eyes to his at the use of his Christian name. “You must know, you must, what my feelings are. I do not ask anything of you, I do not want to force my attentions where they may not be wanted. But I had to do this for you.” Mr. Crosby is shaking his head now, and Zhenya speaks more quickly, wanting to say his piece before being sent away.” You owe me nothing for this, it is a gift freely given. He is to live at Lord Ovechkin’s stables, but he is to be yours and yours alone. A token, of how much I lo— esteem you.”

Mr. Crosby’s eyes, to Zhenya’s horror, have gone wet with tears. “I cannot— I cannot believe— this is too great a gift, I cannot—” Zhenya can begin to feel the spiderweb cracks of heartbreak form in his chest, but then Mr. Crosby continues. “You are the finest man I ever met. There is none more agreeable, none more good hearted. But what sort of connection is this, for you? My family is nearly ruined, they will say a fortune hunter has ensnared you— ”

“Sidney,” Zhenya says, trembling from wild hope. “Do you care for me? Enough to bear what the gossips say?”

“I don’t care what they say about me,” Mr. Crosby says, eyes flashing, and oh, Zhenya loves him. “I cannot allow them to say such things about  _you_!”

“Do you care for me?” Zhenya pleads again, hardly realizing he has grasped Mr. Crosby’s hands in his. “Do you think  _I_ care what the small-minded may say about me? They could say anything, anything at all, if there was some hope, even the slightest, that you could find it in yourself, to love me.”

Mr. Crosby makes a wounded noise and brings Zhenya’s hand up to his lips, and presses a kiss there. “I do, lord help me, I do, Zhenya.”

Zhenya gasps at both the kiss and the use of his name. He pulls Sidney closer to him, encircles him with his free arm. “Darling,” he murmurs into Sidney’s hair. “Marry me. Make me the happiest man alive.”

“Yes,” Sidney says, and there is nothing for Zhenya to do, but to tilt up his chin and kiss him, heart too full for words.

 

 

 

_Zhenya and Sid purchase a grand house after their marriage, with a beautiful estate perfect for raising the finest horses in England. They travel often to the Continent to visit Zhenya’s family, and to find good breeding stock for their equine endeavors. Their house is filled with dogs, children, and perfect, wedded happiness._

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd. 
> 
> I had so much fun with this, you don't even know
> 
> You can find me as [creaturesofnarrative ](http://creaturesofnarrative.tumblr.com/) (main) and [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) (hockey blog, where I'm most active) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi!


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